Before the Empire Has Forgotten Vera Moray
by countess z
Summary: The Outsider comments on his interest in Vera Moray, née Dubhghoill, their meetings, and her eventual descent into madness.
1. Her Refusal

**A/N:** This is my first fic in a long time, and my first Dishonored fic to boot, so it is much appreciated if you take the time to read and give constructive criticism. I know that I change tenses a lot, seemingly at random, but this is because I feel the Outsider views time as something nonlinear and fluid, and often gets the past, present, and future confused when telling a story. If too many people find it jarring I will change it. I wasn't really sure of a lot of things but that is what feedback is for! I want to also thank all of the editors at the Dishonored wiki, without your filling in the gaps in my knowledge this never would have been written. Thank you for reading!

I do not own Dishonored or any of its characters.

* * *

 **M** iss Vera Dubhghoill.

Born in Morley. Will marry Lord Moray.

Not yet does she know this. The thread of her life is tangled and uncertain.

With my interference little is certain. And I _will_ undoubtedly interfere, but not just yet.

Carelessly she will bring ruin with her quiet footsteps, calamity with her enigmatic smile.

Poems, paintings, even an opera will be created over her.

All of this will happen even before she meets me.

Now it is 1780. With her fair perfumed hands she spreads a crisp sheet of stationary in front of her and lifts the fountain pen. Miss Vera Dubhghoill is fifteen, a mere child with sharp, observing eyes and long dark hair. She is spoken of in hushed whispers across the aristocratic circles in Dunwall, for she has caught the fancy of Alexy Olaskir, who has been Emperor of the Isles since before she was born.

Her father is one of the Emperor's most trusted accountants, and the Dubhghoill family is well-respected at court. As Vera blossomed into a young lady the Emperor found himself transfixed by her beauty, spellbound by every soft, deliberate word out of her pink little mouth.

The Emperor had been a widow for twenty-odd years. Crowned at a young age, married his childhood sweetheart, and watched her slowly die of consumption as he spent the people's money on the best physicians and healers from Serkonos, Morley, and Tyvia to no avail. Little Polina Olaskir had dark hair and dark eyes, much like Vera, and a sweet, gentle temperament, much unlike Vera. Neither her age nor her temperament stopped him from proposing to Vera at a ball on that warm summer night in the Month of Nets.

She told him she would consider it.

"Oh, Vera, how proud you must be! Don't you know what this means for our family?"

Her mother and sisters had been positively giddy after hearing the news. I could see everything that happened, already knew the girl's answer, but I waited. Young Vera smiled serenely and made the first strokes on the paper in the carefully composed cursive that only a young girl could write.

"Dearest mother, I will never finish this letter with your watchful eye over my shoulder," she said calmly, hiding the words with her small hands and giggling childishly. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Every single one of her coquettish actions had a purpose.

It was all a game to her. Vera had her own plans.

This was something her mother would never understand.

But I understood. I knew she could become far more powerful than the wife of an Emperor, or even as Empress herself.

 _Could become._

But would she?

Even to me her future was uncertain.

Vera was unpredictable; even her family did not know what she was about to do.

"Have you told your father yet? Oh, but of course the Lord Emperor has already asked his permission!" Suddenly her mother's voice grew loud and harsh as she looked around for the maid. "Missy! By the Outsider, where is that useless girl?"

Missy, who was invisible unless called upon, rushed out of breath from the kitchen.

Lady Dubhghoill sent the meek little maid on an errand to purchase from the butcher the finest cut of whatever he had slaughtered that same day, and the most expensive vintage available in Dunwall. Then she beamed at her precious little Vera, forgetting that she always liked her siblings better.

"We will dine like royalty tonight, and every night from now on!"

Vera simply found her mother's avarice quaint. She continued to write with that knowing smile, enjoying the attention.

Her sisters circled her and questioned Vera about the first, second, and third time she danced with the Emperor, if he was kind, what it was like to look into his gentle eyes, his scent (rosewater, according to Vera).

"Who will be your royal protector?"

"Only the Emperor needs a royal protector, Lillia."

"He's so much older than you, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes. Very much."

"Like Grandfather?"

"Not quite that old!"

For the first time in a while, there was merriment and laughter in the Dubhghoill household. It would be the last time for a long while, too.

The only one of her family who came close to understanding Vera was her older brother, Jereth Dubhghoill. He stood in the dark, silent the entire time, and only now turned and retired to the study to work on his manifesto on factory conditions and child labor, calling for mandatory standards for workers and homes for orphans among other proposed solutions to social problems in the cities, paid for by an estate tax proposed for the very wealthy, his own family included of course. If published, his work would be distributed as pamphlets to the common folk who would eventually start a revolution, with many of his reforms instated. But he will die immediately after he completes his work, and it will sink with the passenger ship that Jereth Dubhghoill will board returning from Samara on the second week of the Month of Harvest, 1784. His radical ideas will die with him as the water strips away his flesh and his bones disintegrate into dust at the bottom of the sea as his name is completely forgotten. This is how his fate will play out, as I see it, so long as the sun continues to rise and set and there is water in the ocean. None of them know this yet, for they do not see what I see.

But let us return to Vera Dubhghoill, whose future is not so clear.

She signs the letter with a flourish and waits for the ink to dry before folding it, always keeping her words and true intentions hidden. She drips red wax on the envelope and stamps it with the Dubhghoill family seal.

Vera's mother, the Lady Dubhghoill, accompanies her daughter to the post. She is chattering all the way about how marvelous their lives will soon be and other nonsense that Vera does not care about. Her attention is caught by a shaved ice vendor. A small tank of pale bluish whale oil powers the machine. Vera's eyes took this in, and I finally saw something impress the jaded girl. Shaved ice in the Month of Nets! Whale oil truly was the future, like everyone said.

"Mother, may I have ten coin for the postman?"

"It is only five coin to post your letter."

"I wish to give the carrier a generous tip. He is to be trusted with an historic letter, after all."

"Very well. But do not tarry too long."

Her mother waits outside. Returning only after spending the tip intended for the letter carrier on a strawberry shaved ice her mother is gossipping with another lady of the aristocracy. Vera was brimming with anticipation, waiting for the right moment.

"Oh, here arrives your daughter now! Pray tell, her father must be ecstatic."

"Indeed, Lady Brighton. But where have you found that charming brooch? You must tell me the name of the jeweler, so he may fashion a piece for Vera's wedding!"

"But of course! His name is Trystan, and he has a nice shop in Draper's Ward. Pray tell me that she is to be wed before the Fugue Feast. . ."

The ladies continued to chatter nonsense as Vera stood almost unnoticed, enjoying her shaved ice. All of these adults, trying to use this fifteen-year-old girl to their own ends. They deigned to dress her in fine silks and spoke of her as if she were non-sentient. An unfeeling, unthinking porcelain doll to be married off to a man old enough to be her father, only to further the family name. Not once had anyone asked Vera of her response; they only assumed she would readily say 'yes' as they had spent years training her to do to the first rich man of good breeding who asked. How disgusting people could be, but such is human nature. Their names and futures are faded and irrelevant to me, forgotten in time. I do not remember any more of what was spoken by them.

Finally, finally the Lady Brighton asked (or squeaked rather) how Vera worded her letter, after scolding her for being so fiendish to not allow her mother to help with its composition.

Vera grinned.

"I told him that his offer was ever so kind. I thanked him for the lovely words he spoke of me, and that his company was truly a delight. But I'm afraid I had to refuse his most generous proposal."

She closed her eyes, knowing what was to come next, though to her it was absolutely worth the positively horrified looks on the two ladies' faces. She knew that all of life is cause and effect. Her mother slapped her, hard, and Lady Brighton scurried off from whence she came. Lady Dubhghoill, in a rare moment of forgetting her social mores, proceeded to shout at her daughter for all to hear about how she has shamed the family name, how she has humiliated her mother, how her father would never be able to look the Emperor in the eye again.

"But mother, he is so... _provincial!"_

All of life is cause and effect.

Had Vera Dubhghoill accepted the Emperor's proposal, she would have produced a male heir within a year. Secure, safe, yet absolutely consumed by boredom. Eventually her son would ascend to the throne at a young age and Vera would instill in him her own shrewdness, ruling from the shadows. The Spider Queen, they would have called her. The Olaskir dynasty would continue and Jessamine Kaldwin would have lived her days a minor nobleman's daughter, unburdened by royal protocol and assassination attempts. She would have published novels under a pen name and married the famed swordsman and longtime friend Corvo Attano.

But Vera observed the Emperor, carefully considered his proposal, and ultimately refused an offer that others would have murdered for.

Instead, Alexy Olaskir will die in three years time, without producing an heir. Thirty-two years on the throne and his twin sister Larisa Olaskir will poison him in 1783. But only I know this. Those present at the fateful supper will say that he choked on a pheasant bone. His faithful hound ate the scraps from the Emperor's plate after it clattered to the floor, also falling ill and dying. Again those watching will insist that he dropped dead in grief upon seeing his fallen master. Only I will ever know the truth.

Vera Dubhghoill. Not yet a grown woman, and she already had the attention of an Emperor, and _my_ attention, infinitely harder to steal than that of any ordinary monarch. All of life is cause and effect. The fate of the Isles had just been decided by a precocious fifteen-year-old girl.

She _fascinated_ me.


	2. Her Curiosity

**A/N:** Halfway done! Let me know what you think. Your feedback means a lot to me.

I do not own Dishonored or any of its characters.

* * *

 **I** watched her closely with great interest.

As Vera grew older she found it easier to pretend to be what others wanted. She could get most anything she desired with her careful behavior.

The Emperor remained enamored with Vera until the very end. They took long walks in the garden lit by paper lanterns, and he would often stop mid-sentence to watch her doll-like face in the dim light, her long eyelashes hooding her eyes and the ribbons in her hair as she asked him so innocently what the matter was.

Some days he accidentally called her Polina, after his departed first love. She would smile gently and place her hand on his back. His eyes would fill with tears at her compassion.

If only he knew the machinations of her mind, as I knew them. But he will die soon and his name will fade into obscurity. I see it now. Vera would never marry him, though she may have considered it later. Too late, now.

He asked every year for Vera's hand. Three times she refused his proposal, and each time her mother beat her like one of the servants. Not once did she cry out; she could not give her mother that sort of power over her. I saw the grim resolve in her pensive eyes and I knew she was different.

As much as Dunwall adored her, I felt the palpable silence every night the family sat down for supper.

Her mother grew more volatile after the Emperor's death, with Lord Dubhghoill being removed from his post. Vera avoided her most hours of the day, for any troubles the family now faced were her fault, _her_ fault as her mother was oft to mention whilst pointing her finger at Vera, now eighteen and still unmarried.

Her henpecked father does nothing to stop the abuse.

She would shout at Vera for her near constant silence at home. If Vera dared to utter a word her mother would hit the bold thing that dared talk back to her.

Her siblings escaped before she did. Jereth had left with his wife to travel the Isles, and all of her sisters but Lillia were now married and out of the house, with the youngest Lillia about to take her vows to join the Oracular Order, having been selected at the age of twelve. Lillia Dubhghoill will be sent to a chapel in Whitecliff. She will be dressed in plain brown robes and her material possessions discarded. She will pore over dusty tomes written about me by people who had never met me, and she will drink the tea brewed with strange flowers that will allow her a peripheral glimpse into the Void. One time I appeared to her, only for a moment. She never told the others. It was much better for them to think the Outsider appeared as a serpent with skeletal wings and three heads. Lillia, or Hollis as she was known to the Oracles now, would never see her family again.

Vera would spend most of her time outside of the house, at countless social occasions. She was the first one to each party and the last to leave. Vera would return late during the dark hours of the morning, climbing the lattices to reach her bedroom window. It was for this reason that she began to wear trousers, even to formal balls, which was unheard of for a lady during that time. The other ladies at court soon followed suit, and decades later it will become nearly impossible to spot a lady in Gristol wearing a dress.

Indeed, everyone in Dunwall adored Vera Dubhghoill. Everyone except her own family.

Rich men (and even a few women) would throw themselves at her feet, begging for her to look in their direction for just a moment. Vera Dubhghoill would turn them all down, with all the graciousness of a lady of her breeding. Some would duel for her hand, but this sort of display had no effect on her.

Vera had her own plans for herself.

One suitor had finally given her a gift she approved of: a smooth white rune carved in bone. Vera ran a pale finger slowly along the grooves, the etched symbols faded and weathered from the sea. For hours she would stare at it, entranced, as if she could already sense its power. It was something new, something she had never seen before. Vera Dubhghoill's curiosity was infinite. She sought to find answers for every question she had about the world around her, and I was a great unknown thing to her.

"You must bring me more of these," she said to him, the suggestion sounding nearly like a command in her low voice.

The man was Lord Preston Moray, the current head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, famous for his cartography of the Pandyssian continent. He was well respected among both the aristocracy and the intellectual circles.

I knew Lord Preston Moray for the pompous, faux-intellectual fraud he was. He was commended by the Empress Larisa Olaskir in 1787 for his "extraordinary achievements" in cartography after his last visit to the harsh Pandyssian continent. He himself only charted a small part of the continent until he found an entire map drawn by the natives. Lord Moray copied the map into his own notes and his team of five explorers spent the rest of the expedition (and the coin allocated to them) carousing and drinking and bedding the local women.

One day Vera asked Lord Moray why he never appointed females to his administration.

"Because, my love, it is not befitting for a woman to pursue scholarly efforts. If you look at the Pandyssians you will see their evolution has stunted because they allow their women to take up the spear and hunt, rather than giving herself to her husband and children. Did you ever consider that unemployment and poverty in Gristol has run rampant because women are taking up the same jobs as men? Urchins roam the streets because their mothers are working at factories. Long ago, women and men followed their biological instincts, and life was simpler that way."

I knew Lord Moray was frightened of women more intelligent than him. I think Vera knew this, too.

Vera obfuscated her true nature and acted as the courteous, demure aristocratic lady he willed her to be.

I knew there was something she wanted from him, else she would not humor him so.

Lord Moray gave her more gifts. He did not realize their true power; he only considered them trinkets suitable enough to give to a lady. He only told her not to tell anyone where she got them, and she promised.

"The Overseers seem to think that anything from Pandyssia is the Outsider's handiwork. They're just trinkets, is all. Harmless."

"Have you seen the Outsider before?"

"Yes, once. It was in a dream I had. In Pandyssia. He was more of a shadow... like a ghost. Human, but... unsettling. Now, let us speak of something else, for this conversation has become improper. I must not offend a lady of your standing with these morbid tales."

He tugged at his own cravat.

Lord Preston Moray was lying. I had never appeared to him, would never appear to him.

Vera did not know it possible, but her mother grew to despise her even more when Jereth died. According to her it was Vera's fault as well, for Jereth would have been guaranteed a seat on the Parliament and would not have needed to travel to write his manifesto.

Vera would have told her mother that her reasoning made no sense, but she did not want to be hit. Her mother was losing her mind.

"Lord Moray has proposed to me again," said Vera one night over supper. There were only three at the table now, with her two sisters gone and her brother dead. There were many empty rooms in their estate.

"What is your reason for telling me this?" her mother responded with hostility.

"This time, I said yes. Aren't you pleased, mother?"

There was silence all around.

"Vera..."

Her father was the one to break the news.

"We cannot afford the dowry. We'd have to sell the estate..."

But of course they would have to. Vera bit her lip to suppress her wicked smile. Here was her chance to humiliate them further.

"Preston tells me that he has a secretary position open, at the Academy. Perhaps father could-"

"Absolutely not!"

Her mother's wine glass shattered as she slammed it on the table.

"Adelaide, perhaps you ought to take some laudanum and go to slee-"

"Damn the laudanum! Damn the aristocracy! We will not live off of the charity of Preston Moray! Oh, what a scandal it would cause... The Dubhghoill family is prouder than that. Morley, we will return to Morley. We will sell the house and return to Morley. Wouldn't that be nice, Dear? I've always hated the estate district and these pompous little shits in fancy clothes. We won't have to deal with the Brightons, or the Morays, or the Boyles and their snide remarks, or... or..." she stood, pointing a trembling finger at Vera.

"Or _her._ " Her voice dripped in hatred.

"Adelaide, please..." her husband said helplessly, but did not move to stop her.

"You can tell Preston Moray that he will not receive a dowry, for you are no longer our daughter. You have brought nothing but misfortune, you cursed girl."

"Lord Preston Moray is not after my dowry. He l _oves_ me; a concept I am certain you are unfamiliar with, mother."  
"You ungrateful child! You dare speak to your mother this way, I'll teach you not to open that smart mouth again!"

Then, Vera Dubhghoill did a peculiar thing. Something I did not expect.

As her mother moved to grab her arm, Vera swiftly pulled the rune out of her pocket and held it up above her head, her dark eyes staring defiantly back at her mother.

"You cannot harm me. The Outsider is watching over me."

"You..."

Her mother took a step back, threatened. Vera took a step towards her, her eyes unblinking.

"If you hurt me one more time, your eyes will boil out of their sockets and the spiders will eat the inside of your intestines." She said this with such certainty, and with such calmness that terrified her mother, who could not tell if she was bluffing.

"You cursed girl... _! You killed the Emperor and then you killed my son! I won't allow you to kill me!_ "

That was a steak knife she was now brandishing. Lady Dubhghoill slashed at Vera, cutting her thin arms that she held up instinctively. The deep red blood contrasted against her pale skin. I suddenly saw how petite and fragile Vera appeared, helpless to these attacks. Her mother was much bigger. I saw the murderous intent in her eyes and I knew she was going to kill her.

So this was why her future was unclear.

I rarely interfere so directly with the lives of mortals, but Vera Dubhghoill interested me far too much for me to allow this.

There was a hissing sound and a wretched burning smell. Lady Dubhghoill wailed inhumanly, for her pain was excruciating, and the others could only watch as she flailed blindly. The knife clattered to the floor as the woman's hands flew to her face. A clear fluid dripped from her eye sockets. For several minutes Lady Dubhghoill made sounds like a wild animal.

When she was finished bellowing she vomited, mussing up her lacy cream blouse. Her breath smelled like bile as she pushed herself closer to Vera, who remained paralyzed against the wall though her mother had long dropped the knife. Blood dripped from her own deep wounds to the white marble floors.

" _MY EYES! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WITCH! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL- K – K-"_

Then Lady Dubhghoill began to choke. She clutched her throat, trying to speak. But she fell to the floor, convulsing.

When Adelaide finally stopped moving her mouth was agape. Large black spiders crawled out of that uncomely hole, down her papery white neck and across her face.

With a chilling calmness Vera turned to her father. His bespectacled eyes looked at his own daughter in horror.

"You've always been so weak, haven't you? Weak, weak, weak. You watched her hurt me all these years. Why don't you leave town, like the coward you are? I'll take care of this mess, dear father. No need to implicate yourself, oh, no. We can't have that. You'd make too much noise to save yourself. I want you gone. Missy's called for the guards. The Overseers will ransack the estate, no doubt. They'll question you, oh yes. Don't worry. They won't suspect you. I know they won't. But you won't tell them about me, won't you? It will be our secret. Just between you, me... and the Outsider."

She kissed her father on the cheek and left. That was the last he ever saw of her.

The Overseers will find a shrine with a bone charm in the attic with some of Lady Dubhghoill's possessions conveniently placed by Vera in case of such an emergency.

I know the truth, as does Vera. Wanting someone to blame, the Overseers would have taken her for further questioning had Lord Moray not been at the station to assure the Overseers of her innocence. In the end their written statement will claim that Adelaide Dubhghoill dabbled too deeply into dark magic, her own curse backfiring in an attempt to kill her daughter.

Lord Dubhghoill will sell his estate and his title and flee on the next ship to Morley. He will purchase an inn and live the rest of his life in fear, always looking over his shoulder, always checking every dark corner for traces of me.

Lord Moray took Vera back to his estate and he soothed her with stories of Pandyssia while his private physician stitched the knife wounds on her arms. Though she had just watched her mother die, she had a radiant smile on her face the entire time as she listened breathlessly to his stories. Lord Moray was too stupidly enamored to notice anything strange about Vera's behavior yet.

"You must take me with you next time. On one of your expeditions."

Again her words were like a command that could not be disobeyed.

That night, Vera saw me in a dream for the first time, only for an instant. She thanked me, and asked me if I fancied her. I only told her she would see me again. Soon she would bear my mark. It was time for me to give her the power to carve her own life, for I was not going to intervene on her behalf again. It was not my place to change the course of the future like that; only to empower others to make changes. But this time, just this once, I could not resist.


	3. Her Elation

**A/N:** Warning for implied marital rape.

I do not own Dishonored or any of its characters.

* * *

 **V** era Dubhghoill married Lord Preston Moray in the Month of Rain, 1790.

The wedding ceremony lasted three days, and was the grandest Dunwall had seen since the marriage of Primrose and Raleigh Boyle. Vera was a woman of twenty-four now and dangerously astute, with a secret that could destroy everyone around her.

After their honeymoon in Serkonos, Vera Moray became temperamental and prone to sudden outbursts of anger, despite the luxuries showered upon her. I knew her mood swings were merely borne out of a childlike impatience. I had enticed her by appearing to her, by showing her a sampling of my power and she wished to see me again, but it would not be for years to come.

While she is alone she whispers to her runes, caressing them gently, as though she were speaking with me.

She will catch glimpses of me in her dreams, but I will always remain out of reach, a visage of phasing shadows. Only so that she knew that she was not alone, that I was watching. Still, Vera Moray wanted more.

Many began to pity her, for though the details of the tragic night were never revealed to the public, the servants had their own network of whispers, which trickled upwards to their masters. As petite as she was, Vera Moray's presence was intimidating, even then, and none would dare confront her directly about it, but they still considered her the unfortunate victim. While the scars on her arms healed the ladies would call her a "poor dear" and gossip how her mother was a "bullish woman" they never really cared for anyhow. Hypocrites they were; as soon as Vera Moray begins to lose prestige they will turn on her just the same. They will throw rocks at her and call her names. At least, that is but one of her infinite futures. Vera's fate is uncertain to me, but no matter how much wealth and prestige her aristocratic friends have, or whatever finery and jewels they ornate themselves with, they are no different than the common folk when faced with fear of the unknown.

Vera never loved him. I know she thought of me when Preston Moray bedded her, and that made the pain almost bearable every night she spent with him. I was her mysterious savior, though all I had done was kill her mother. Sometimes she tried to put herself in peril to see if it would make me intervene again, but I knew each situation was carefully crafted, and I would never directly change her future ever again. The incident with her mother was merely a fluke, and sometimes I wonder why I ever became involved. But I am far too old to regret any of my actions.

Lord Preston Moray was formally requested by Emperor Kaldwin himself to lead another expedition to the Pandyssian Lord Moray dragged his feet as he gathered his team of the Academy's brightest, Vera managed to worm herself into the party much to her husband's dismay. He eventually conceded with the knowledge that his wife would never forgive him if he did not let her go, and she is known to hold very long grudges.

The voyage to Pandyssia would be a long one, marred with death and chaos. This was a crucial point in Vera Moray's life. Soon she will bear my mark, and carve her own future. In one version her husband's future will also be carved by Vera, albeit in a more literal sense.

During the expedition Vera Moray dressed herself in men's clothes and demanded respect from the Academy students. She refused to simply "take up space" as her husband implied she would do. While the men set out in caves and tunnels to sketch pictures of the flora and fauna, Vera enthusiastically thrust herself into learning more about the people. She began to understand basic words and phrases in the Pandyssian tongue, and was skilled at communicating her intents through hand gestures and facial expressions. Her newfound aptitude for diplomacy prevented some of the brash young explorers from being boiled alive on more than one occasion. Vera Moray even managed to acquire a guide for them in the form of a sinewy young man whose title of Z _hidra-il_ could be roughly translated as "bone-shaman apprentice" or "junior shaman," one who was being trained under the guidance of a full-fledged bone-shaman. Kez was his name. Vera was very fond of his quietness, his well-mannered behavior, but the tall man's dark skin and penetrating grey eyes intimidated the other explorers because he looked so different from them.

"But Vera, love... we can't trust these savages. They were ready to make Professor Kinley into stew for speaking to the chieftain's daughter."  
"Don't worry about Kez, dearie. He is a Zhidra-il. He is not allowed to perform any acts of violence without the direct approval of his Zhidra-ka."

The men turned and murmured to one another. How could she know all of this?

Here I saw Vera's facade had slipped ever so slightly, letting on to the others that she might be far more intelligent than she let on. Her husband grows ever more suspicious of his own wife, would soon even fear her. If he makes it out of Pandyssia alive, he will take great lengths to ensure that the meticulous notes in Vera Moray's little black journal on the Pandyssian language and customs will never see the light of day in any academic discussion.

"Hasn't she quite the imagination, men? Zhidra- what was it? Is this something you read in a novel?"

The tension melted and the men laughed.

"Very well. If I am not allowed to accompany you, may I have Kez show me some of the... jewelry that his people make?"

"I suppose that is a suitable interest for you, Vera, but remember what I said about the natives. Don't let your guard down."

Vera smiled and turned to Kez after the men had left. "Kez..." she searched her memory for the words he had spoken earlier when discussing an object of particular power. "That lovely charm your Zhidra-ka had given you... will you show it to me again? Zhivra? Ko... ko..."

Kez nodded in understanding.

" _Ko-Zhivra. Na ulanna i zhamani. Na rimi... Valazhti."_

Vera understood little except for that last word. _Valazhti._ Kez gazed up at the sky as he spoke it with reverence, enunciating every syllable. Indeed, that was their name for me, translating loosely into "great one." Though I had not visited this clan for many years the bone-shamans still craft charms in my name and use the bones of whales for divination. Some of them have a residual amount of my power, though it has faded with the death of their last marked bone-shaman. I have lost interest in them for a while, but Vera was elated to find out more about them. She drew sketches of the symbols carved, many of which were animals that they feared or revered.

Bandits in wooden masks had stolen much of their supplies about a week earlier, yet the great leader Preston was not taking charge of the situation, allowing the men to steal and hoard food from each other while the remaining supplies quickly dwindled. Vera ran away from her husband that night to a cave hidden by a waterfall, not wishing to join him in their tent after an argument.

She crouched alone in the damp cave, clutching her rune, closing her eyes as she listened to the echoing sound of the endlessly crashing water outside.

"We'll starve at this rate if the men don't learn how to ration the food we have left. Oh, what a group of fools they are. Felix and Edwin didn't listen when I told them not to eat the purple fruit, and now they have purple spots on their faces. Kez said they'll lose their mind in a few days. Hunger makes a man stupid, doesn't it? Preston's become so dreary. I think he's given up. Dreary, dreary, dreary. He never lets me do what I want."

She fell asleep in the cave, still holding the rune to her chest.

When she awoke she was in the Void.

Vera blinked several times at the darkness ahead of her. I know that for a moment she wondered if she had died in her sleep, but then I materialized in front of her.

"Vera Moray. I have been watching you for quite some time, as you already know by now. You have entered a crucial point in your life, and the decision you will soon make will determine the fate of many lives. Tell me, what does this mean to you, Vera?"

I could see the clockwork in her brain working as she observed and analyzed my appearance, from my empty eyes to the rings on my fingers to the stars above and below. And, what I found the most amusing, was how she still formulated a sharp response, as if trying to assert some form of authority. But I knew she had been eagerly awaiting this moment for seventeen years. I knew this very well.

"What I am thinking now is the nerve you have, young man! You've taken so long to return to me... and then assume we are on a first name basis! Your manners are severely lacking. Well... I don't think it fair that you should know my name, is it? What is your name, dearie? Not what the others call you. I know my husband and the Overseers call you the Outsider, and the Pandyssians call you Valazhti. I want to know your true name, if you wish to call me Vera."

I did not answer her, not because I did not wish to divulge this information but because I had long forgotten. I could not answer this question even if I wanted to. It had been thousands of years since that name was spoken. In another life I was human, but who I was in that past is different from who I am now. Irrelevant. Nonexistant as far as anyone else is concerned. I have ascended that mortal shell to become who I am, have grown hollow and forgotten the hampering emotions of humans. I wait for a world-breaking event when I will cease to exist, whenever that shall be. I only watch the others from afar and await my own fate, when another will take my place. Such is the nature of my solitary existence.

And yet this was precisely why Vera Moray astounded me. She desired to be on my level, rather than submit to me as an omniscient god that the others could so readily accept me as. She sought to humanize me, not deify me, and that was what made her so different from the others. Vera Moray had left me speechless; for the first time in aeons I did not know how to respond to her.

"Oh, but I suppose I can forgive your misgivings this once, dearie. Such a handsome young man. Were I not a married woman I'd have my eyes set on you, though your manners are crude."

It was as if she did not understand who she was speaking to, but I knew that even these words feigning innocence she had carefully chosen. Her motives were altogether vague and I could not see clearly into her futures anymore.

"Then, do you wish I call you Lady Moray? It makes no difference to me." She only giggled. Did the woman not take anything seriously?

"Have you ever imagined what true power would taste like?"

This time I used a stronger tone of voice, hoping she would cease her jests and listen to what I was about to offer.

"I already have power, don't I, dearie?" she was quick to answer. "I had an Emperor wrapped around my finger. I am married to one of the most powerful men in the Empire. I wear a hat to a party and all the hens at court will buy the same one. Even these uncivilized Pandyssians recognize me as a figure commanding respect. You've watched me, have you not? All I need do is wave my hand like this – " she made a sweeping motion with her hand, but could not finish when she suddenly shrieked in pain.

After her short cry echoed into infinity the only sound was the hissing of her flesh as my Mark burned into the back of her hand. She held it out in front of her and stared in silent awe, the Mark still pulsating.

"This is my gift to you, Vera Moray. You never were impressed by the expensive jewels and fine wine that your suitors had readily available for you, but my gift is more than something physical, even greater than the old runes you cling to for comfort. What you thought was power was only your way of surviving in a world of sharks that wanted to use you to their own ends. I give you true power, Vera Moray, and the key to your freedom. To what ends you use it is your choice."

The individuals that I mark all behave different, at least initially. Some will become ruthless killers, famed assassins that are spoken of in legends for generations. Others will use it to exact some form of self-righteous "justice" against those who have wronged them in the past. Some may try to use it for their idea of 'good', but in the end most will revert to acting upon their primal instincts of greed and fear. Many will lose their mind in the process. Vera Moray was no different with her means, but her reasoning for her actions in the end were the most unique, I found out much later.

Though they mostly worked with whale bones, the Pandyssians would sacrifice humans in my name as well. They boil them in an enormous pot and dance around as the flesh is burned off to reveal clean white bones. In times of famine they had no shame in feasting upon their flesh.

After receiving my Mark Vera learned to carve runes and charms of her own and imbue them with power. She would pick the bones out of the massive pot and make charms for the villagers. Her runes were unique; so long as it was in someone's possession they became vulnerable to her suggestion. Some minds were easy to control than others, and some minds she could not control at all, but Preston Moray was easy to bend to her will. He spent a miserable birthday in Pandyssia eating plant roots instead of a grand birthday feast. Vera's present to him was a rune that she carved. At first he refused, having a mind to toss it in the ocean and be done with her morbid fascinations, but as his skin touched the bone his thoughts changed almost immediately. Vera was elated.

In one of her futures that became clear to me now, she will not realize that others who bear my Mark are immune to this power, and it will be her downfall. But that is only one future, and it will not be for many years.

Six of the twelve members had died of sickness, four having resorted to eating poisonous fruit or the large bull-rats, with the other two casualties from fights over the remaining food. While trolling for fish on their ship, some of the men caught a baby whale in their net. Though it was a child, it was still enough food to last them the journey home. It squealed and cried helplessly but the hungry men rejoiced as they slaughtered it and roasted it over the fire. Vera found herself horrified for reasons even she could not explain, and was too nauseous to join the feast.

She went to Kez and ate with his family that night. They had a great stew already boiling on the fire. She vaguely knew what was in the stew but she was too hungry to care. Kez had one of her special charms, too. That much was apparent.

That would be the last night she spent in Pandyssia. The six remaining set off to sea early the next morning, eager to leave the death and misery on the continent behind.

She was asleep in her quarters when I took her with me to the Void to speak with her one last time, in the event that she perished on this ship. I did not believe she would, but it was a possible future I could foresee. Her hands were shaking and a light sheen of sweat covered her brow. It was clear she had fallen ill, but she still refused to accept this fact.

"Sick? How foolish. Something I ate isn't settling right with me, is all." she said.

"What was in that stew that you ate with Kez?"

"You tell me. I never asked. But you see _everything_ , right?" At first her words were defensive, guarded. I said nothing. Silence, save for the whispers of the Void surrounding us. Her face softened as she looked up at me. "Are you... upset with me?"

She had a finger pressed against her lower lip. Her face had grown gaunt and angular from near starvation. Her cheeks were hollow.

"It is not my place to have an opinion on the actions of mortals. You made a decision, and will have to face the consequences of your action. All of life is merely a chain of cause and effect."

Vera's eyes flickered downwards.

"I couldn't eat the poor little whale." she said in a tiny, frightened voice I hadn't heard since her childhood. "I couldn't. It... reminded me of you, in a way. I know that sounds foolish, but I can't really explain. Truly, I have begun to despise Preston, but I still let him have his way with me at night. If only he knew how wretched I was, how my hate for him grows... Some of my thoughts are absolutely horrid, you know..."

She seemed ashamed, eyes still locked on the starry abyss below her, but I stared intently at her frail, trembling figure. Her words were sincere, for the very first time.

"You need not tell me; I see the darkness in your heart. I see your dreams would paralyze any mortal with terror. You were always adept at fooling the rich and powerful, and I see the fate of your husband among many others played out in countless ways, all dependent on your decision. The power is in your hands, Vera Moray. I have given you my mark, and you are free to use it as you see fit. You could become the most powerful woman in the Empire if you willed it."

"Oh, but you know I don't care about such paltry things, dearie. Tell me what _I_ can do for _you._ You've saved my life once before, and I only wish to make you happy, you know."  
"Happiness is a useless concept to me."  
"I knew you would say something like that, dearie. Ah, well..."

Vera was done with me now, and vanished from the Void on her own accord, as she had already learned to do.

Happy. She spoke truths, but I did not understand. She wanted me to be happy. Incomprehensible thoughts swam through my head as I attempted to decipher the meaning of her words. It was a naive thing a child would say. Did she not desire unlimited power? Did she not wish to finally be the puppet-master of those who had tried to use her for so long? Others professed their love to me and treated me with reverence, yes, but all because they wanted something from me, my power.

It is not often that I say this of a mortal, but I did not understand Vera Moray in the slightest.


End file.
